


monochrome rainbow

by ginger_ninja_2



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Blood and Gore, F/F, Ghost TW, Imagine that I know what I'm doing, M/M, Murder, No Incest, No Reginald Hargreeves, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, drugs tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-12-25 18:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18267278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginger_ninja_2/pseuds/ginger_ninja_2
Summary: The blood dances on the floor as it mingles with the rain water, glittering like a pool of life. There's nothing panicked in the way he cries silent tears, like he has lived with this since a young age. Klaus… Feels sorry for the murderer. He's never felt more wrong and yet so right in his entire life.His hand feels warm and heavy in his own as they run.Her arms stay steady as she plays her apocalypse suite, eyes blank and expressionless, and Allison only loves her more for it, heart aching and head pounding with the pressure. The others are struggling but she has only one thought in mind.None of this can happen. She knows how to stop it.





	1. Klaus

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Welcome to my next wip hell.
> 
> As always, please double check the warnings and tags and keep yourself safe above all else!
> 
> Enjoy!

A thousand lights glimmer in the distance, bright and blue and bold, like pixels on an old computer, like the LEDs of times long past. Purples and blues and magentas, neon and vibrant to the point where Klaus wants to wear shades at night. The streets are clean and sleek, white and black, reflecting the glow of the lights in the puddles that surround him. People are still milling around, some drunk, some just pleasantly enjoying a night out, a few service bots in between the gaggles of people. 

 

It’s truly a sight to behold. Although, perhaps he’d appreciate it more if he wasn’t drenched to the bone, standing in the cold, trying to contact the dead father of a girl half his age with ten times the amount of money he has. But that’s just the life of Klaus Hargreeves.

 

“Is he here? This is where he was killed,” the girl asks, voice quiet and muffled under the sounds of rain and boisterous laughter from a guy down the street. “What’s taking so long?”

 

Klaus gives her a tight-lipped smile, hands gripped into tight fists at his side as he ignores the screams of the damned to try and find this girl’s father. “It’s a hard job, dear, and unfortunately for you, I’m the only person who can do it.”

 

She huffs, but keeps quiet as Klaus goes back to focusing on the job at hand, searching for a man of her father’s description. A tall, well built man with half of his head missing stands a few feet away suddenly, and Klaus focuses all of his energy on him, the edges of his silhouette turning a neon blue that could rival the street sign above him.

 

A gasp, closely followed by a loud choking sob echoes from the girl besides him, eyes wide and horrified. “D-Dad?”

 

Leaning against the closest building, suddenly fatigued, Klaus watches with a distanced sense of anguish as his client sobs brokenly as passers by stare, not seeing what she does, wondering about her outburst. Her father stands stock still, eye cold, disapproving. “Chloé, pull yourself together.”

 

Ah, a shitty dad. Happens often enough that Klaus isn’t even fazed, only feeling a mild empathy for Chloé, as she tries to compose herself, deep breaths interrupted by the occasional sniff. “Sorry, Dad, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault, I should’ve been more careful, the car…”

 

The lights begin to swim in front of his eyes, a kaleidoscope of colour, as he feels his fingers go numb. Chloé seems to be begging for her father’s forgiveness, but it’s clear it’s going nowhere, and the longer this goes on, the more likely it is that Klaus is going to end up back in the hospital. “Okay, Chloé, say goodbye, you don’t have much longer before I lose him.”

 

Her eyes meet his, an unspoken plea, but he just shakes his head, hoping his face portrays how apologetic he feels. 

 

“Goodbye Dad, see you again...” Her bottom lip quivers as she lets her last tears fall from her eyes, as the man loses his blue quality and she can no longer see him. “...Wh-what...was the fee?”

 

* * *

 

With money in his pocket and the sense of doing something good for someone, the rain doesn’t feel like so much of a problem anymore. A few people still linger around, confused by the odd show they just watched, but they don’t ask, so Klaus won’t tell. It’s a good system.

 

As he walks, a service bot glides past, white and sleek, the holographic screen atop it displaying the latest news. “‘The Defenders of Peace implore anyone with information regarding The Horror to come forward and declare such information as it could potentially save lives’...” A soft mutter to himself as the screen flashes from the text to an image of what looks like a dark alleyway, closed off with police tape. The timestamp reads 18:07, an image from this evening. 

 

People mutter amongst themselves as the news continues, fear spreading as the joyous calamity of late night shenanigans melts away.

 

“I hear they’re taking more and more lives each day-” “-which is absolutely ridiculous, are the DoP just sitting-” “We should hurry home-”

 

The Horror, the city’s very own serial killer, with an amassed victim count of over three hundred, something of an urban legend. Klaus has met more of their victims than people who didn’t die at their hands in the past month.

 

Their M.O? Complete annihilation. Every single one of their victims has an incomplete ghost, some with no arms, some with one leg, quite a few completely bisected, a few decapitations, but never cleanly. There’s a reason their code name is The Horror. Klaus shudders at the thought.

 

The Department of Peace have no idea who The Horror is, and with every new massacre, the public become more and more fearful. He’d offer up information if he had any. Plenty of his most recent customers have been family or friends of The Horror’s victims, asking for help to end the massacres, demanding closure, but like the public, like the DoP, none of their victims know anything new either. The same description as what the DoP released last year: dark figure, hooded, in all black, long, dark appendages as the weapons. Tentacles, the victims say, and Klaus would joke about how he’s seen enough of the vintage style hentai to know where that was going, if he had no sense of tact. 

 

So he would help, if he had anything useful to offer.

 

Although, Luther seems to think he’s lying about knowing more, but why? Klaus has no idea, why would he lie about not knowing information about The Horror? What would he have to gain from that?

 

Luther works for the Defenders of Peace, and Klaus has known him for about three years? He thinks. He spends most of his life in a (drug induced, shh) haze, foggy and disoriented until a client arrives and he has to sober up or risk not getting paid. So he can't be blamed for his shitty memory.

 

Besides, Luther has more important cases to be working on, like finding The Kraken, or The Boy, both also fugitives in the DoP's mind. There's usually some news story about both of them in between news about The Horror.

 

The Kraken is a vigilante, and Luther hates his guts (which Klaus finds immensely hilarious). He wouldn't admit it, but it's because The Kraken does a better job at stopping criminals than the Defenders of Peace do, and so of course, he's super jealous.

 

The Boy is an enigma, a time and space travelling scientist, who has broken so many time travel laws it's ridiculous, and yet despite being technically older than every other super-powered person in the city, is still just a teenager. Again, Luther holds no love in his heart for him. Klaus just wants to know his skincare routine.

 

Then, in regards to the other super-powered people born at the same time as the rest of them, there's Allison, codename ‘The Rumour’, because she can just… Say things, and they'll happen. She's an actress, although Klaus suspects she used her powers to get there. She's nice though so he won't judge her decisions any more than she judges his.

 

He's known her for about the same amount of time as he's known Luther, but he likes her a lot more.

 

A shuttle glides past Klaus on the road as he stops beneath a huge screen, Allison's face plastered over it in bright colours. He hasn't seen her in a while, and it's probably a good thing.

 

Just down the road and to the left, a small gaggle of ghosts look confused, arms and legs missing, a few bleeding profusely as though they were still alive. Their wailing is starting to give Klaus a headache already, although they're still far enough away for them to not notice that Klaus can see them.

 

They must be The Horror's victims from tonight. He'd help them but he has a prior arrangement, and the gruesome sight is beginning to turn Klaus's stomach.

 

Turning down a darkened alleyway, the door to his apartment building comes into view, and he lets out an audible sigh of relief that no one is hanging around it. The door creaks softly as he turns the key and slides it open, closing it behind him as he skips up the stairs, the elevator out of order as it has been for the last few months.

 

The smell of rotting wood feels like nostalgia, the floorboards outside his front door riddled with cracks and suspicious stains, but it's home.

 

As his door opens, a completely different smell fills his nostrils, and he can feel the stress melt out of his skin as he sloughs off his coat, hanging it on the coat rack next to the bathroom door.

 

Lavender and patchouli incense from earlier still pervades the open living space, his fish tank glowing a gentle purple in the corner. He's cold, wet, and in desperate need of some drugs, but for now, the smell and purple glow are enough to ease his overactive mind, to remind him to stop grinding his molars together, to relax.

 

His laptop screen brightens every now and then with a new email, but he can ignore that for long enough to get a cold glass of rosé and one of the pot brownies his elderly neighbour made for him.

 

Sliding open the balcony doors, the soft wind whips his hair a little, but the roof protects him from most of the rain as he sits on the bench, staring over the skyline of the city he calls home.

 

Somewhere in that bright blue-hued cyber jungle, his mother wanders aimlessly, dazed and drenched. He pretends he doesn't see her every time she passes him, but there's never a flicker of recognition on her face, because why would there be? She abandoned Klaus when he was eight, locked him in the basement of their old home, and proceeded to drown herself in the pond in the front garden. He never loved the old hag anyway. It's not really a loss.

 

A flicker, and a ghostly figure sits proudly beside him on the bench as he takes the first bite of brownie, the taste slightly pungent but sweet enough to ignore it.

 

“I thought you'd forgotten,” the ghost smiles at Klaus warmly, face pale and gaunt, bullet holes in his stomach leaking blood like a faucet. “It's so late, I was sure you wouldn't summon me.”

 

“How could I forget your birthday, Dave?” Klaus hums gently, trying not to think of how the bullet holes got there in the first place, eyes filling with tears he won't shed.

 

They sit in silence then, all the words they could've ever said to each other heavy and painful. Klaus doesn't want to see Dave anymore, doesn't want to be reminded of the day The Commission killed his ex for 'minor transgressions to The Code’, doesn't want to be tethered to a ghost, both literally and figuratively, of the past.

 

“You can let me go, Klaus. I want you to be happy, but that means I have to go.”

 

With the wine glass now empty, Dave's form flickers softly, like a hologram. “... I'll miss you.”

 

“I know.”

 

Slowly, the ghost disappears, limb by limb, dissolving like salt in water, Dave's soft, sad smile the last part of him Klaus will ever see.

 

Finally. He's free.


	2. Allison

The blaring tone of her seven AM alarm rings in her ears as she blinks awake tiredly, clumsily reaching to swipe at the hologram to turn it off.

 

Sitting up, Allison stares out of her panoramic window at the city below her magnificent abode, and frowns. It's beautiful, but she can't appreciate it.

 

It's still dark out, but the ambience from the centre of the city glows a soft blue, obscuring the stars in the sky, a silhouette of the skyline like a monolithic creature, spiked and aggressive. Much like the entire political and social system of the city.

 

Corrupt, just like the way the city corrupts everything it touches.

 

Although maybe she's just biased against it.

 

Slowly, she slides out of the warm cocoon of her bed, silky lavender sheets pooling in the centre of the bed before straightening themselves out once Allison begins walking to the closet. 

 

Ignoring the half full of plaid and sweaters and skinny jeans pointedly, the computerised voice responds to her gentle tapping at its screen, detailing the weather report and current fashions to her. Based on the computer's suggestions, Allison picks out a silver pair of trousers and a dark purple high neck vest, paired with a silver faux fur coat.

 

Laying her clothes on the now perfectly made bed, she heads to the bathroom, swiping through the many suggestions in the mirror for makeup today before settling on a more natural look, deep brown eyeshadow and a gentle pink lipgloss. She doesn't have work today, but she'd still like to look presentable.

 

The mirror opens to reveal a mask identical to Allison's face, pressing against her before sliding back behind the mirror as it closes, her makeup perfectly applied as she ties up her hair into a purposefully messy bun.

 

She changes into her clothes with a controlled haste, before picking up her holo and walking out into the corridor, and down the stairs. 

 

It's now half past seven, but visiting hours aren't until ten, so she has enough time to make some chocolate pancakes for breakfast before she needs to leave.

 

She selects the ingredients on the counter top screen, humming softly along to a tune in her head as the ingredients slide along a conveyor belt, perfectly measured out to what she needs.

 

Mixing the ingredients together as she heats a pan up on the stove, Allison tries to not let her mind wander too much, startling as the TV turns itself on in the living room before she remembers that she set it to do that. Calming down, she watches the screen flash through different images of crime scene photos, blurry but still clear enough to get a basic idea of the carnage.

 

Distracted, the pancakes begin to sizzle in the pan as they overheat, but Allison ignores them in favour of trying to discern where bodies start and end. It's a morbid curiosity.

 

“-crimes have been increasing in occurrence and magnitude for the past 7 years, although new studies show that it's likely The Horror has been operating for a lot longer. We send our deepest apologies to the families of their victims, both past and present, and we can only hope the Defenders of Peace will soon catch the serial killer-”

 

Allison flips the pancake a little too late, one side slightly burnt. She sighs softly, loading them onto a plate with some whipped cream and strawberries, and sitting on the sofa cross-legged, munching slowly on the food she can't taste, her mouth too dry.

 

“-our resident researcher has come up, once again, empty handed, although now sources say that The Séance may be withholding information that could prove crucial to the investigation, despite his previous statements denying having such knowledge-”

 

Angrily, she switches the channel to an animal show, putting her food to the side as she begins to tap furiously at her holo.

 

Klaus's face appears in front of her as she holds her wrist up to eye level. “Allison, what a pleasure.”

 

“Hey Klaus, have you seen what they're saying about you again on the news?”

 

He laughs, and Allison envies his ability to just be aloof at all times. “That I know about The Horror? Please, no one believes that.”

 

“Luther will.”

 

“That's because Luther is an idiot. Besides, any information I would have wouldn't even work in a court of law, not unless Luther manages to pull some strings again. But I've said it once and I'll say it every time they fucking ask, even the victims don't know who killed them.”

 

She laughs softly, still angry, but Klaus seems to be infectiously happy today. “Hmm, sure thing. We should meet up soon.”

 

He hangs up after agreeing to see her soon, waving a tattooed hand before his face blinks out.

 

Her pancakes have more taste now, sweet and fluffy, just the way her girlfriend liked them...

 

The time is quarter to nine. She might as well arrive early.

 

* * *

 

The Defenders of Peace headquarters loom over her head, menacing and round, like a gigantic blister in the ground. Allison hates it here.

 

She presses her palm to the front door, smiling plainly when the automated voice asks her to, before the door swings open, allowing her entrance. Her heels click loudly on the cold white tiles, the lights overhead bright and glaring. The receptionist gives her a small, shy wave which she returns, trying to make it look more than half-hearted.

 

A small elevator sits open waiting for her as she steps in front of it to input the level she'd like to visit. It feels like a metal coffin, small and claustrophobic, and nothing like the main elevators, like a cylindrical trap.

 

The elevator rushes down and down, before the doors ping open, the voice announcing her arrival to the lower basement.

 

“Allison, you're early.” A deep male voice says, monotone surprise colouring his words. Sat at his desk, Luther gives her a small welcoming smile that she tries not to return, but does anyway.

 

“Yeah, I got bored of waiting. Can I see her now, or are you going to make me wait again?”

 

Luther raises an eyebrow at her, looking at the clock before shaking his head. “You know the rules, Allison, it’s for your safety really. It’s just half an hour.”

 

She shrugs, sitting across from Luther in the soft metal chair, crossing her legs as she taps on her holo again, bringing up the news. “It was worth a try,” her mind sticks on a thought of using her power to get in but she’d just end up in the same situation as… Her. The article about Klaus fills the simulated screen as she flips it to show Luther. “You know he doesn’t know anything, stop getting the press to harass him.” She’s always felt protective of him, especially since his boyfriend was killed.

 

Sipping his coffee, Luther shrugs. “He refuses to talk to me about it, and I know he has met plenty of The Horror’s victims, so it’s really up to him to stop the press by telling me what he knows.”

 

Allison doesn’t need to reply, eyes cold and hard as she glares at him. 

 

“Look, I know you think he doesn’t know anything but you have to admit it is a little suspicious that he outright refuses to talk about it.”

 

“Maybe he’s just seen enough of the victims to not want to think about it. I know I would rather not think of it, and I’m not the one who sees the dead.”

 

“He’s the best lead I have, Al. Other than him? I’ve got nothing…” Luther whispers, like he’s ashamed, like he would even have anything to be ashamed of when he’s already doing his best. “And I  _ need _ something; until I have The Horror locked up, I can’t get the others.”

 

“And that’s what this is all about, right? Did your time in space really mess with your head that much? Why is your one goal in life to collect us all?”

 

“Collect? I’m not collecting anyone, I’m putting people to justice.”

 

“And when does that extend to placing Klaus in here too, or me, or even locking yourself up too?”

 

The clock on the wall chimes the tenth hour, cutting through the tension in the office. They sit in silence for a few moments before Allison stands, crossing her arms. “Let me in.”

 

* * *

 

The cell is as plain and white as always, empty other than the sparse furniture and a holo screen on the far wall. She looks as small as she always does, pale and expressionless, a void in place of the bright, extraordinary person she was  _ before _ .

 

Allison finds herself lamenting the fact that, as usual, she isn’t allowed inside the cell, can only spectate from the wide window at the front, can’t hold her and tell her everything will be okay. It’s been three years. Every second feels like a decade.

 

“Hey, Vanya. I missed you this week.” Her voice trembles softly as she sits by the microphone, smiling wide as Vanya turns in her place on the bed, eyes still empty of emotion but her mouth curling upwards just the slightest.

 

“Allison… On time today,” the other jokes half-heartedly, moving over to the window, sitting in the chair opposite Allison. “Do you not have work today?”

 

She shakes her head a little, putting her palm against the window as she allows her smile to fill with melancholy, eyes filling with tears as Vanya copies her, as close as they’ll ever get to holding hands again, separated by a thick pane of glass. “Nope, I requested the time off so I wouldn’t be late like last time. This time we have the whole hour.”

 

Vanya’s hand slips back into her lap, as she asks about Allison’s week. The circles under her eyes are darker than before, and Allison makes a mental note to chastise Luther for it, to demand that he take better care of her. It’s not her fault that she’s locked up in here, she should be treated like a person, not a lowlife criminal.

 

“Well, you know, same as always. Busy, boring, monotonous. I’m seeing Klaus soon.”

 

“Oh, The Séance. I thought after your little apology party with him, that he’d be doing better than before, but the media still hates him.”

 

Allison laughs gently, shrugging as her holo chimes a new message in quietly. “Well, you know how… Vilifying the media gets. He’s prime material for news.”

 

They make small talk for the rest of the hour, avoiding the elephant in the room as they usually do. Allison wonders how much sleep Vanya has had, how well she’s been eating, whether she has anything to do to stop her mind from returning to that day. But she won’t ask. She never does.

 

She wants to hug her, to cry into her hair and let her  _ feel _ something other than the strange emptiness the drugs Luther gives her inspires, to kiss her until she knows how loved she is. But she can’t do that. She never can.

 

“Allison, time’s up.” Luther intones, voice hard but quiet, a hand on her shoulder.

 

“See you next week, Vanya. Get some sleep.” Allison smiles morosely, standing from the chair and waving a little as Luther leads her back out into his office, past the other inmates. They stare at her as she passes, eyes hungry and vicious, nothing like Vanya.

 

The White Violin. A danger to everyone. A lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we have an allison chapter! 
> 
> i love writing her just as much as writing klaus, shes just great
> 
> next chapter soon! hope you enjoyed!


	3. Klaus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Ghosts, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, blood, murder talk, klaus
> 
> hoooo boy lets goooo!

With no customers today and a much lighter sense of heart, Klaus is going to go shopping. Be productive. Fill his fridge. God knows he needs to, the state of his very empty kitchen glaring at him as he passes by to go to the bathroom.

 

The mirror turns on, a gentle bright white light, as he stares at his face. He actually looks happy for once, the dark circles under his eyes lifting. Although… He feels an immense sense of guilt over the happiness. He loved Dave, still does, had thanked whatever God was out there for his powers for the first time when he’d died, had stayed sober for  _ weeks _ just to see Dave still.

 

It only took a month of staring at his pale dead face, the bullet wounds, the melancholy look in his eyes when he tried to touch him but  _ couldn’t _ , for Klaus to resent his powers even more. They argued, they yelled, Klaus got kicked out of his old apartment over the arguments. Constantly being reminded of death with every conversation, never escaping that cycle of mourning what he’s lost. He even started to hate Dave.

 

Now he’s free, and so is Dave, and as harsh as it sounds, he’s glad he’ll never have to see him again.

 

The tears streaking down his face shock him as he focuses his eyes again, but his smile… Kind of offsets the negative associations of crying.

 

He splashes water on his face, before brushing his teeth, staring at the shower before sighing and dragging himself into the cubicle.

 

The water gently rains down on his skin, overly hot, turning his skin pink, but it feels so good, so refreshing, the heat easing the gentle tremors in his muscles from the mild hangover. He’s out of drugs again, which should bother him more than it does with Dave gone, with no reason to stay sober, so he’ll have to cope without until tonight.

 

The soft purple towel he grabs as he steps out of the shower feels so gentle against his heat sensitive skin, it almost makes him cry again. Like a hug. How long has it been since Klaus had a close relationship with someone alive? Better not answer that lest he starts crying again, because he’s just way too emotionally compromised when he’s bordering on sober.

 

He pads slowly back into the living area, grabbing an apple before heading into his bedroom, finishing drying himself off before dropping the towel in the laundry basket, opening his closet. He pulls out a pair of skinny black jeans and a green long-sleeved button down blouse he stole from an old girlfriend. It looks better on him than it ever looked on her anyway.

 

He dresses slowly, taking a bite of the apple occasionally, before sitting on the edge of his bed, staring out of the window. The soft blue glow from the city fades into the natural sunlight. It’s really quite aesthetically pleasing, he admits, mind beginning to wander, trying to stop any bad memories from resurfacing. He starts picking at a stray thread on the blouse as the basement floods his senses before his holo beeps on the bedside table, chiming softly, pulling him out of that dark spiral.

 

He picks it up before wandering over to the sofa facing the TV in the living room, watching as the news presenter starts talking about him. It makes Klaus laugh a little, how desperate they are for drama that they have to drag an innocent party into something that honestly has nothing to do with anything they’re talking about.

 

It doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it should, but he’s used to being on the public’s bad side. After The White Violin’s first and only big ‘event’, he was pulled into a horribly invasive and personal scrutiny by the media, for his powers. As did everyone else with powers, only their identities weren’t and still aren’t known.

 

His holo chimes louder this time, as Allison’s face materialises above it in a hologram, looking… A lot worse for wear than he’s seen her in a while. “Allison, what a pleasure.”

 

Her soft smile looks fake and forced, her makeup doing absolutely nothing to hide the dark circles under her eyes, the slight redness to the whites of her eyes. Of course, visiting day. “Hey Klaus, have you seen what they’re saying about you again on the news?”

 

Klaus laughs a little, shrugging as he rolls his eyes playfully. “That I know about The Horror? Please, no one believes that.”

 

He slides through the notifications on his holo as he speaks, seeing the message he got earlier was from Luther. “Luther will.”

 

She’s not wrong. He’s demanding to see Klaus as soon as possible. What a dumbass. “That’s because Luther is an idiot. Besides, any information I would have wouldn’t even work in a court of law unless Luther manages to pull some strings again. But I’ve said it once and I’ll say it every time they fucking ask, even the victims don’t know who killed them.”

 

Her tinkling laugh makes Klaus smile, at least he can bring her a little bit of humour and happiness on a hard day. “Hmm, sure thing,” Klaus holds his apple up to the screen in a mimicry of a toast as he takes another bite. “We should meet up soon.”

 

“Sounds like a stellar idea, Al. Let me know when you’re free.” Klaus smiles, waving a little before hanging up, the news changing to the weather report. Sunny today it seems. A good day.

 

* * *

 

The puddles from the rain the night before still litter the pavement, sparkling in the sunlight like crystal. Every now and then he’ll stand in one just to splash around. He gets a few odd looks at his choice of attire (he assumes), but it’s not enough to put a stop to his good mood.

 

He hasn’t felt so carefree when mostly sober for what feels like  _ years _ , none of the lingering ghosts bothering him with their anguish and gore, his mind free but clear.

 

The supermarket is only a few blocks away from where he lives, and from there it’s only a few minutes to a café where he can get the best irish coffee with a sea view to boot. He’s going to have a good morning, followed by a good afternoon, followed by a good night, and he won’t let anything get in the way of that.

 

Distracted by planning out his day, he walks straight into a person (so maybe he should focus on things not getting in his way physically too), almost falling to the pavement before the guy grabs his upper arms tight, keeping him steady.

 

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve been looking where I was going,” he begins, a shy, embarrassed smile on his… Very nice, handsome face, voice belying the shock from body slamming another person. His hands are heavy and tight where they hold Klaus upright and a respectful distance away, but not tight in a painful way. It feels secure. His dark hair looks windswept and a little unkempt, and he smells of sea salt and dark cedar wood. Klaus  _ tries _ to not get distracted again but it’s hard. “I’m really sorry.”

 

Klaus laughs airily, planting his feet more firmly on the pavement, sliding his hands into his coat pockets and shrugging. “No, no it’s not your fault I was totally out of it, so I’m sorry too.”

 

The other man nods a little, embarrassed smile turning a little more confident (even a bit… Smirk-y?) as his eyes flicker to Klaus’s hair and back to his face. “Maybe we should both be a bit more careful.”

 

He feels a similar grin stretch his mouth wide, nodding a little. “Maybe so.” His face… seems almost familiar somehow, or maybe it’s just that he seems so kind. He was definitely on the seafront just now, the smell of salt a lot stronger as the wind blows, although people aren’t really supposed to be down there so early in the morning, but to Klaus, he doesn’t seem like much of a rule breaker.

 

Either way, his hands are still on Klaus, and Klaus is still staring at him, and maybe he's a little too sober for his own liking because this is as awkward as it is kind of nice. His smile slips a little as he averts his eyes, noticing that one or two of the few people around are staring now.

 

“Oh, sorry, I should be… Going…” And now it’s definitely awkward, the man’s hands slowly sliding down and off of Klaus’s arms, quickly being shoved into hoodie pockets, his eyes darting to the floor. “Sorry once again.”

 

“It’s… Fine.” Klaus says, words sticking in his throat, but the other doesn’t look at him again, already walking off, and Klaus wishes he didn’t always overthink everything because now he feels like he did something wrong. He doesn’t even know the guy. Why would it matter if he did something wrong anyway? He turns to start walking back towards the supermarket, trying to regain the spring in his step.

 

Until, that is, he suddenly almost faints, eyes unfocused and head pounding, nerves on edge and limbs shaking, holding onto the railing seperating the road from the path with all of his strength. He gasps loudly as the once mostly empty pavement and road floods before his eyes with ghosts. Hundreds of them.

 

Limbs missing, blood gushing, muscle and bone exposed to the air. Some shuffle along the floor using their arms due to their lack of legs, others glitching in and out of existence, their physical state unable to interact properly with the world, the essence of their being there somehow, yet their bodies just an indiscernible mess of bone and flesh, unable to reform. It’s the most horrifying scene he’s ever been witness too, and he’s been witness to so many.

 

His heart pounds in his chest, watching them pass him by, most of them not even aware of anyone around them, the odd few staring blankly through Klaus. Or at least, the ones that still have eyes. He can’t breathe, he can’t think, can only watch on in abject horror, the sheer number of them making his head spin.

 

They fade a little as a trickle of blood slides down his lips and into his mouth from his nose, head feeling so heavy he just wants to fall asleep. They still don’t look at him, they aren’t that type of ghost, not the type that has unfinished business in the world that they need Klaus for. They’re the type that have no choice about what or who they interact with, tied to the ones who killed them.

 

The last time this happened to Klaus… He was helping Luther find a mass murderer, and only saw his victims after nearly becoming one himself.

 

The back of the man who held him up is barely visible now, far enough away that only a few stragglers at the back of the procession of ghosts are visible to him.

 

Of course, the irony of his earlier statement about knowing nothing sticks in his mind, as The Horror walks away from him, somehow managing to shake up his entire world without needing to kill him.

 

Fuck.

 

* * *

 

The supermarket doors slide open with a chime, the inside bright and welcoming. He gets a few stares as he blindly grabs for a basket, rubbing at his still bleeding nose with the back of his hand. The tills beep periodically in the background, gentle easy-listening music playing over the tinny speakers, kids giggling as they run around the aisles.

 

Klaus wants to hit his head against the nearest wall.

 

An elderly woman passes him a tissue with a wary but kind smile, and he nods his thanks, pressing it against his nose to staunch the bleeding as he makes his way towards the food aisles, grabbing anything that appeals to him without much thought for what it is.

 

The Horror. The fucking Horror. The horror indeed, he’s absolutely terrified. And super conflicted. And just confused. Mostly conflicted.

 

How many of the people around him knew people he’s killed? How many of them are future victims, not aware that they’ll be killed by the city’s most prolific murderer, and could be saved by Klaus telling Luther what he knows? But… Why hasn’t he told Luther yet?

 

For a serial killer, The Horror was pretty chill. And very good looking, but that thought makes Klaus want to sew his eyes shut. He was nice! All the other serial killers he’s been around are weird and always seem to have either cold, dead eyes, or hungry eyes that made Klaus feel like a pig being led to slaughter. Even Vanya, sweet, caring Vanya, had eyes that made Klaus shudder. This guy was just… Nice. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown, gentle and kind, if a little tired and sad.

 

Klaus tends to have a good read on people. He’s proud of that. He’s never been wrong about a person before.

 

So… What?

 

The Horror is a nice person, but he kills people? Why should him being nice change the fact that he’s a mass murderer, one of the most notorious ever?

 

It just… Does. Coupled with the fact that the ghosts didn’t appear to be angry or upset, just in pain, a few even seeming to look at The Horror with sympathy in their cold eyes, Klaus just doesn’t know what to think, what to do.

 

Which really doesn’t ease his headache in the slightest.

 

Taking his basket to a self-serve till, he scans his shopping methodically, trying to focus on the monotony of it, trying to reign his thoughts in.

 

The Horror’s warm, tortured brown eyes fill his mind as he walks home, dazed and still bleeding from his nose.

 

So much for a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay now something's actually happened lmao
> 
> Im so excited to keep writing this, like its my baby
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter! thanks for reading!


	4. Ben

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> A LOT OF GORE, murder, death, blood, viscera, guts, attempted child murder, matricide, attempted suicide mention, nightmares, foreshadowing, just general ben sadness

A few hours later, his hands can still feel the soft fabric of the guy from earlier, the feeling of his arms held tight in his grasp, can see the pretty curly hair and tight fitting green shirt as though he’s still standing in front of him, warm and alive. 

 

The dark sky looms over his head as he pulls his hood up, obscuring his face.

 

Ben hates what comes next. But he has to do it.

 

He wanders down a dark alleyway, one he’s been down many times before, but not for about a year or so, and waits.

 

First, someone walks past the mouth of the small side street, then a tentacle shoots out of Ben’s stomach, as quick as light, wrapping around their waist and pulling them in. Another wraps around their mouth, keeping them quiet as their eyes bulge with terror.

 

Ben whispers an apology to them as another two tentacles begin ripping them to shreds, first their leg then an arm, the blood splashing like a deluge to the gravel beneath his feet. The smell hits then, metallic and sour, filling the air around him. Their flailing ceases as they accept their fate, the pain in their eyes matched by Ben in intensity.

 

Their stomach is pierced, a muffled scream loud in the alley, but silent to the rest of the world. They’ll die here, by Ben’s hands, alone. They all will, eventually.

 

Another person turns towards the entrance, mouth open in a silent scream as they notice the massacre, but they never make a sound. The tentacles drop the other to surge towards the next person, throwing them against a wall, the sound of their spine snapping in two like a roar in Ben’s ears, their head pulled off the rest of their body with a crack. At least they died quickly.

 

He tries to zone out, to let the tentacles do whatever they want without paying attention, on the off chance that maybe he won’t feel the guilt of killing these innocent people. He scans the area for cameras, finding none as usual, trying to breathe as calmly as he can when all he can breathe in is his victims blood, cloying in his throat.

 

Seven people lay, dead at his feet, in a pool of their own blood, just a mere 20 minutes later. It's impossible to tell where one body begins and another one ends, flesh, bone and viscera splattered on the walls.

 

He hovers a few inches above the ground, the tentacles holding him up so his shoes and clothes don't get dirty, but it's almost second nature at this point to avoid any evidence, too many close run ins as a child teaching him how to prevent such leads to him.

 

The tentacles place him back onto the main street, deserted and silent despite the bustling life only a few streets away in the centre. There's no evidence at the scene that implicates him other than the strange DNA traces from his extra limbs, no bloody footprints leading away from the scene.

 

Ben is the perfect killer. The only person he's never managed to kill is himself.

 

* * *

 

His house is dark as he turns the key in the door, stepping inside and toeing off his shoes at the rack, before locking the door behind him.

 

It's not much but it's home.

 

The hallway leads into the kitchen, where he leans on his hands against the counter and bursts into tears, body shaking with each sob that tears its way out of his chest, the salty droplets hitting the marble with tiny splashes that echo in the silence of his empty home.

 

He hates coming home, hates himself, hates the 'power’ he has, hates his name, hates the red that fills his vision when he closes his eyes, hates that he knows the taste and smell of blood so intimately that it's all he can smell, all he can taste.

 

“ _ Ben, it's okay, _ ” the being in his mind whispers, voice deep. It doesn't speak in English, but somehow Ben still understands everything it says, everything it feels, everything it  _ tastes _ . “ _ They don't hate you, they hate us. _ ”

 

“That… Th-that really doesn't help,” He sniffs, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, pushing away from the counter and taking a mug out of the cupboard before turning the kettle on.  “Co-considering that everyone thinks we… We are the same.”

 

“ _ Humans are small creatures. Small minds, small bodies, small lives. We are so much more than them. You, by proxy, are too,”  _ it's voice is like a caress, deep in the darkest recesses of his mind, trying to soothe him but just agitating him more. “ _ We do not understand why you cry, brother. _ ”

 

The coffee spills onto the counter as his hand shakes, tears still flowing enough to obscure his vision. “J-just… Sh-shut up. You'll n… Never understand.”

 

It seems to think for a moment, as Ben finishes making his coffee, speaking up again as he sits on the sofa, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees. “ _ In all the other worlds we are connected to, they regard us as Gods, as mighty entities. Yet here you, and therefore us, are the lowest of the low, criminals, judged simply by our different needs. Do you not think that perhaps instead of moping here, in this small dingy hole you call 'home’, we could help you become a God, just like us. _ ”

 

“I don't want to hear that, I don't want to be worshipped. I just want a normal life. Where I don't have to… To kill people.”

 

The coffee is too hot as it slides down his throat, but it takes away the taste of blood, replaces it with a bitterness that isn't tainted by pain and death, and that's all he could ask. “ _ Ben. You are not happy. We are, therefore, less than. We want to give you what you want, but we need to feed, so you must let us kill. _ ”

 

Ben watches the lights of shuttles pass by his window on his ceiling, blues and greens, different shapes looming over him like the guilt of his past.

 

“I'm aware.”

 

* * *

 

_ Crimson red, dark brown. _

 

_ A cold wind. Wet clothes. _

 

_ Sharp, biting pain in his stomach. Pointed anguish in his mind. _

 

_ His mum, body limp in his arms. _

 

_ A knife falling from her hands. _

 

_ A scream so loud he feels his eardrums vibrate. _

 

_ Hatred in dark, brown eyes. Apathy in the same eyes. _

 

_ Green eyes, bright and happy. _

 

_ A voice in his mind, a whisper of hunger, of desperation. _

 

_ Arms held back, blade dropping to the floor. _

 

_ A soft hand in his. Warm arms held tight in his hands. Green, green, green. _

 

_ Red again. Flashes of bright white light.  _

 

Deep gasps shock him awake, sitting ramrod straight up in bed, soft orange sunlight filtering in through his blinds in horizontal lines.

 

“ _ We awoke you. Those memories seem to be traumatic. _ ”

 

Ben can still feel the dread from the dream shroud him, fingers gripping his sheets tight. He can't speak, can't open his mouth, lest the bile rising in his oesophagus end up on his hands.

 

Visions keep flashing behind his eyes, despite his awareness, of his mother, knife in hand, rushing at a younger him, terror and hate filling her once warm, kind eyes. Her scream as tentacles burst out of his stomach, stabbing her in four places. Her limp body heavy in his arms as he carried her to the sea and let her go, the raging ocean calming long enough for him to send her to a better life. How hard it was to live on the streets, long enough for people to assume he'd died along with his mother.

 

_ The rain is heavy the night he kills for the first time. His mother has been on edge ever since the portal first opened a few days ago, and he's been kept confined to his room. She brings him food periodically, and tells the people who ask about him that he's ill. _

 

_ He treads down the stairs quietly, in the early hours of the morning, his footsteps covered by the sound of the storm outside. His mother is hunched over the island in the middle of the kitchen, back to him, hair covering her face. _

 

_ “...Mum…?” His voice, small, shaky and childlike. He's only eight. _

 

_ “... Devil…” She slowly rises, turning, her hands shaking, the dim light of the fridge glinting off the metal blade of the meat knife in her hand. “As if… It wasn't bad enough… That I wasn't prepared for you… Now you're a monster…” _

 

_ Panic fills him, his fight or flight response kicking into action but he can't move, stuck to his place in the doorway as his mum extends her arm and moves towards him.  _

 

_ Everything goes in slow motion as she rushes him, knocking him back against the wall, knife raised above their heads as she begins to bring it down. A ripping pain in his stomach tears a scream from him and his mother, as four dark tentacles shoot out from the portal. _

 

_ They suspend her in the air, the knife clanging to the ground, her eyes glaring first at the tendrils then at her son, angry, hateful, horrified. She coughs, a spray of blood splattering on his face as he cries in terror. _

 

_ He doesn't know what to do, frozen in horror as the appendages drop her to the floor like they're disgusted by her, slithering back where they came from. Her eyes roll back to him, fear and anger still prevailing over death before she takes her last breath, eyes fading. _

 

_ A primal part of him enjoys the satisfaction of his predator being taken care of, elation spreading through his lungs as he breathes out until the gravity of the situation crashes down on him suddenly, his knees unable to hold him upright. _

 

_ He collapses next to her body. Why couldn't she just see, that he wasn't a devil? Or a monster? _

 

_ Or maybe… She just knew before he did. _

 

His breath hitches a few too many times, his heart in his throat.

 

“ _ You're safe here. We won't let anything happen to you ever again. _ ”

 

He knows they won't. Won't let him drown, won't let him tear himself apart. Won't let him take his own life.

  
“ _ You're our brother, Ben. We love you. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hard chapter  
> very hard
> 
> im sorry the chapters seem to be getting shorter, i just cant seem to make them longer :(
> 
> next chapter soon!


	5. Allison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: memories, upset, being restrained, death.

There are certain things about living in 2119 that Allison appreciates. And by that, she means having enough money to have the best amenities money can buy.

 

Not having to do her own makeup in the morning is a godsend, for a start. Her mum had been somewhat of a vain woman, but never had enough money to afford the best makeup, or the useful gadgets that Allison now has. She used to watch her apply her makeup every morning before leaving the flat, some days it took her over an hour. The thought is exhausting, Allison would never have time for all of that.

 

Similarly, as much as she loves to cook, the ingredient finding and measuring AI system is so useful to bypass how incessantly boring it is to do. Her mum never cooked for the reason that it took too long, so Allison enjoys every meal she can make quickly.

 

She has smaller appliances that help with other things, such as her AI closet, the windows that filter the UV rays coming into the house, her holo.

 

Her home is the nicest in the city, of that she's sure, full of plush purples and soft silvers and golds, regal but modern. 

 

If she wasn't rich, she wouldn't have any of these things.

 

Large panoramic windows give a view over the city to the East, the vast rocky ocean to the North and the mountains over to the South. On days like today, when she's still hurting about Vanya, the views are sometimes enough to calm her down.

 

Today, with the knowledge of yet another massacre from a few nights ago, and that her one friend who isn't responsible for her girlfriend's incarceration is a prime suspect for collusion, not to mention Vanya's clearly diminishing health and wellbeing… Well, a few pretty views really don't even come close to calming her down.

 

Amongst her own belongings, small reminders of her life with Vanya stare at her, goading her with memories that hurt to relive.

 

_ Soft pale skin beneath her fingertips as Vanya stares up at the few stars still visible above the light pollution, but all Allison can see is her, fingers dancing along her exposed shoulder gently, reverently, like Vanya might disappear if she touches too suddenly. Her smile, bright and glorious, turns to Allison, and her breath gets stuck in her throat. She's gorgeous, all soft eyes, soft skin, soft lips. She's drawn to her like a planet orbiting a star, or maybe a star sucked into a black hole, all consuming and enveloping. The first one feels more accurate. _

 

_ Vanya laughs quietly, secretly, like she's sharing an inside joke about Allison with the grass around them, eyes crinkling with mirth. “Allison, the stars are up there.” _

 

_ “Not mine. Mine’s right here.” The seriousness of her voice shocks her slightly, as she pushes herself up on one arm to hover over Vanya's face, pressing their lips together, so carefully, like she might break if she pushes too hard. _

 

_ But Vanya, ever the one to be different, slings an arm around Allison's neck and pulls her back down, kissing her harder, like she can't get enough. It makes Allison grin, causing them to accidentally knock their teeth, giggles disrupting the quiet surrounding them. _

 

_ Allison drops back down to lay beside Vanya, holding her holo above them and taking a picture, a memory she'd love to have forever. _

 

The picture flickers occasionally on the coffee table, the freeze frame mocking Allison as she stands, laughing at her cowardice as she escapes to the bedroom.

 

_ “Allison, I don't understand what the AI is telling me.” Vanya calls out, arms outstretched in a confused gesture, like she might flip the computer off any second, white oversized t-shirt making her look almost comical. _

 

_ Allison stifles a small laugh at the scene, standing behind her and wrapping her arms around her waist, resting her chin on her head as she reads the screen. “It's telling you that all of your clothes are too samey, and that you need to go on a shopping trip.” _

 

_ “But I like the plaids and sweaters.” _

 

_ “Me too, Van. But the AI knows best. Wear a suit or something, it's a special event! A sweater just won't cut it,” Allison lets her go, typing a quick search into the screen and watching as the suggestions change. A dark blue three piece suit comes up as the first suggestion, and Vanya's soft hum of approval makes Allison smile. “There you go! And, it matches my dress, isn't that great?” _

 

_ Vanya grins, reaching up to press a quick kiss to Allison's lips before wandering deep into the closet to grab the suit, her voice quiet as she calls back, dejectedly. “I’m lost, Al.” _

 

The plaids are still there, different colours, but they could all be grey for all Allison cares. It hurts, to see them all there and know that Vanya'll never wear them again, that she'll never see her wear them, comfortable and happy, instead of the white garments Luther has her in like the other inmates.

 

The bed… Holds just as many memories, each more painful than the last as they cycle through her mind, her fingers itching to… To do something, anything, to stop them.

 

* * *

 

With a glass of red wine and a bag of chocolate raisins settled neatly on the side table beside her, Allison sits with her legs tucked under her, long gold tipped hair cascading over the back of the sofa. The TV stays firmly off, as she watches herself take a sip of wine, eyes dark and lifeless. It's been a long three years since… Since Vanya exploded.

 

It's not a memory she'd like to relive, but with the wine easing her senses and lowering her guard, she can't pull the walls back up quick enough to stop it.

 

_ The chiming of her holo is insistent as she runs across the photoshoot set, apologising to the director. Luther's face appears as she swipes to accept the urgent call, and her initial angry words die on her tongue at the fear and anger on his face. “Luther?” _

 

_ “It's Vanya. She's gone berserk.” _

 

_ The words don't register for a moment, and she has to sit down to process them. “What… What do you mean?” _

 

_ “I mean, her concert ended in a bloodbath.” _

 

_ After a hasty explanation to the director of the photoshoot she had been doing, she rushed to the city's only theatre, where Vanya had been performing that night. The first thing she notices when she arrives are the sirens, loud and blaring in the otherwise quiet of the night. The second thing is the number of body bags laid out on the pavement in front of the grand doors. _

 

_ Luther stands in front of them, arms crossed over his chest, a tired look in his eyes. Allison needs to know what happened, why there are so many dead, but the only thing she can think of is Vanya. _

 

_ “Luther where is she?” Her voice comes out rushed, breathy, like she ran all the way from the studio. When he doesn't answer, she pushes at him a little, glaring when he doesn't move. “Luther!” _

 

_ “She's been taken to the DoP HQ. She's not safe, Allison, we had to drug her to stop her.” _

 

_ Ignoring him, she pushes through the doors, running through the halls to the main auditorium, horror striking her to her knees slowly at the sheer volume of bodies still here. Some say, others laying on the ground where they fell. A few oddly dressed people holding guns also lay around, wearing gas masks. The Commission. _

 

_ There must be hundreds dead, only a few still alive according to the hushed whispering of some of the paramedics, but only just. A majority of them slashed at the throat by an indeterminable blade of sorts. The odd few shot, but they suspected that was at the hands of The Commission. _

 

_ A paramedic places a bright blue shock blanket around her shoulders, helping her to stand and walking her back out into the open, where Luther takes over for the paramedic, helping her into his car. “I'll take you to her, if you want. But you need to prepare yourself for… Well, you're not going to like what you're going to see.” _

 

* * *

 

_ Strapped down to a metal bed with hard metal cuffs around her wrists, ankles and midriff, Vanya looks so much smaller than usual. Her eyes are a cold silver as she stares at the ceiling above her, apathetic, her white suit tattered and creased where it was pressed neatly before. She seems perfectly calm, apart from her hands, clenched so tightly into fists that small rivulets of blood trickle down from her palms onto the floor. _

 

_ Luther's hand is sympathetic on her shoulder, but it just feels like a shackle. _

 

_ When her mum died, Allison’s heart broke. Now, gazing upon the restrained form of her girlfriend, her closest friend, the only person she’s ever loved more than herself, the person who taught her love, her heart breaks into a thousand more pieces. The tears slide down her face as she turns away, unable to keep staring at Vanya, knowing that they’ll never be together again. _

 

She’s still crying, even three years later, hasn’t really coped well with the separation and longing.

 

Perhaps she’ll take a leaf from Klaus’s book, and try to drown her problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small one this time guys gals and nonbinary pals
> 
> i've had another project this month (camp nano), but i took a break today to post this
> 
> see you with the next chapter soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Wow okay hi
> 
> So. Here's the thing. No Reggie = no family = they're still messed up
> 
> I tried to put some explanations into the fic itself but some didn't fit so they're here:  
> Their codenames are the same as the show and comic  
> There are more than just the seven of them  
> They are aware of this fact  
> They are also aware of the fact that all the super-powered people in the city were born on the same day at the same time, because it was a documented event  
> So that's why they're all so chill  
> Um  
> Some other things I'll remember at a later date


End file.
